Slaves Are No Fun
by skittlez907
Summary: A poor village must reliquish 7 children to the Akatsuki as slaves. Deidara get's the stubborn one. DeiOC


_Deidara/OC_

_Chapter One_

Ash and heat hung in the air, creating a setting akin to a volcano. Somehow, this didn't bother the men huddled in the room, silently eyeing each other. Normally, they would be laughing and dancing, and calling for more ale. But this was different. Now they had a problem to discuss.

A gray-eyed man spoke, his voice strong and soothing, the voice of a king.

"If it must be done, then it will be done."

"Roland, you cannot be serious! Our children going to those _beasts_…"A pudgy man protested, his doughy face becoming an angry shade of maroon. The revulsion coating his tone was visible to the other men in the forge.

The man called Roland lifted his slate-gray orbs to stare levelly into the other's hazel eyes.

"They won't attack them. We have a deal. They will only be servants, the same life most of the children will have here. Some, even better."

Another man stepped forward, effectively hushing the other three who had not spoken yet.

"Roland. You know what we have to lose if the beasts decide not to keep their end of the pact." This man, by the name Takashi, objected, worry weighing down his brows.

"A chance we must take. You forget I have children as well. I know the love of a parent for his child. But I also know the love of a king for his people." He met the eyes of each man, daring them to question his decision.

"Calm down, all of you. Every man here realizes the imminent threat the bests pose. Why fight amongst ourselves when we can be fighting the—"

He cut himself off, Roland's startling eyes flashing warnings like the metal Roland shaped in the forge.

"Ryuu. There is nothing to be done. Let us go and tell them—"

"They are coming! We are under attack!" Takashi bellowed as an explosion shook the air.

O0o0o0o0

Splinters of flames rained down, hitting the overturned stalls. Racing bullets of fire blasted the shops on the side of the road.

Roland stepped out, expression a mask of stone. A slow smile lit his face as he studied the imperial creature gazing majestically over him.

"Akatsuki. We wish to be comfortable with these arrangements, so we request a single day longer to spend with our children."

Listening quietly, the clay bird bent her head in a form of consent, ignoring the populace now staring with abandonment at her sheer beauty. Feathers rippled over the lean muscles, armoring with their jagged edges. Brilliant, dangerous obsidian seemed to enfold her, allowing twin beams of crimson light to escape. Her paws stood steadily, appearing as powerful columns; talons curved and scraped the stone, showing the solitary sign of her annoyance.

Carefully manipulating his face as so not to blink, Roland bowed.

"We thank you, Akatsuki."

The air stilled around the two, the smell of sweaty humans pressed together in a small, confining town square irking the great beast, who now growled in irritation. The husky sound echoed around the noiseless mass of humans. It vibrated through their bodies, filling them all with sudden, exciting adrenaline. Minds buzzed with energy and the outrageous urge to fight something came to them.

Roland still stood steadily, amazingly keeping a level head. This did not last long, however, as another surprise was set to come in a few minutes.

"Hello."

His head snapped up and he spotted the one who had spoken. He studied the teenage body sitting on the back of the dragon while the boy did the same. Roland did not move, for he knew the boy was measuring him.

Long brown hair hung in damp tangles to his chin. His skin was smudgy from the soot and ash of the forge he worked in. A shadow of a beard had begun to grow back. Soft, well-worked leather was fashioned into a tunic, while a grey wool long-sleeve was worn comfortably and swatches of leather were tied on his wrists. A jerkin of rich, soft russet leather, embroidered with, interestingly, a pattern of hammers and swords was layered on top of the tunic and long-sleeve. Black pants were tucked into silky grey boots. His memorable, silvery eyes were calculating and warm all at once.

Roland did not look like a king, and that perhaps, that was the most curious part. He was a blacksmith, and yet the entire town referred to him as the leader. This was something that interested the boy immensely.

"You are not the king."

"No. I am not. What business do you have with him?" Roland spoke calmly, even disinterestedly.  
"I must speak to a king. A _blacksmith_ has no idea of what I must do."

This boy spoke condescendingly, so that the men standing near Roland stiffened, their friendly gazes turning cold as ice.

Roland merely nodded, waiting for him to speak.

"Pein."

Roland tilted his head, looking confused.

"My name. Pein. Deidara, missing nin of Iwagakure, owns the bird." He smiled slightly at the beast.

It was strange, that this boy, no older than 20, was so hostile towards all but the bird. His head was crowned by almost shaggy crimson hair. The boy's build was lean and held the appearance of one who held strength, but knew better than to show it. It seemed as if he had learned this the hard way, by the bitter undertone to his eyes. Under pale skin, subtle scars lay, showing Roland just what he was up against.

His eyes were the strangest. Pale, sea green orbs stared coldly at Roland, ignoring the others as if they were beneath his notice. His arrogant manner received no protest, for they were all relieved he would not turn his penetrating sight on them.

"I realize that you must oversee these people as if you were their master—"

Roland's head snapped up in a sudden burst of anger.

"I am not their master!"

The two stood facing each other, both tensed for a fight. There was no doubt there would a fight. But this fight couldn't take place now. Pein still needed him. This was what he did—take what he needed and throw it away.

"As you say. Who will be our first servants? You remember our deal of seven."

"Ah, but I was under the impression the one who made the bird was the one to make the deal. I am not so sure that our girls will be safe with you."

Mumbles of agreement came from the men behind him. These fathers, unlike Roland, had no problem with killing the boy, right then and there.

"Why is that?" His voice grew, if possible, colder still.

"You do not seem the type to show mercy." Roland's voice carried across the crowd, voicing their concerns.

Pein began to nod. A smug smirk came slowly and he set his left hand on the bird's sharp-feathered back.

"You're right."

The next second a sword was whipping through the air, sleek blade slicing the air. But all it sliced was air, because there was something blocking it.


End file.
